The final tree

 Pain. That is the very first thing I remember. Then second is an awareness of the world around me that I had not had before. Even as my fellow brethren were tumbled from the earth, dead, I was astonished. So this is how humans feel, and think, and live every single day. How do they not go crazy, dealing with this? With this pain? This was my very first series of thoughts.

Then and only then, did I realize what exactly had happened to me. I survived the tree-killing virus. But none of the others did. How did I escape this wrenching disease, and how did I change into a sentient thinker and feeler? Those were the pitiful thoughts that ran through my bark, on the day when the vatengesi won the war.

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Now it has been nigh 500 years, and I still manage to thwart their plans. I have been blessed, for when the 2nd to the last tree fell, the people of the earth pledged to keep me alive. That is perhaps the only reason why I still live. Waiting, watching, and protecting the city that has grown around me. I was just a spry sapling then, but over the last 5 centuries, I have grown into a 5,000-foot tree. My roots are as large as a small house, and markets full of life and color, use them for protection from the rain and cold.

My fruit which has never produced seed is collected religiously, used as medicine for the deathly sick. The grooves in my trunk are studied to an exact science. Weddings take place in the spaces between my roots, and underground railroads are dug, curving and twisting secretly around me.

I am a tree that is described in distinct detail, a book dedicated to me that is more than a thousand pages long. I am carefully watching over the city that mostly loves me. The Vatengesi still lurk in the shadows, their hearts filled with anger and bitterness. Only they know the truth behind what took place on that fearful day, so long ago.

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It is currently night time on my plant-day, and I am watching the city with cautious eyes, hidden from view. The only people stirring by me are a young couple with their child. The man is Vatengesi and clearly still abides by their ways.

The woman is a tall dark-skinned lady, pale as a sheet. She clutches her child to her chest and glares at the man. My duramen jolts. The child is a tiny baby girl with sap in her veins instead of blood, hair, and eyes reflecting the seasons, and tiny intricate patterns like the grooves of a tree on her skin.

Who is she? I think as the man hisses "She is a Rukha dī kuṛī" he says a word, I can not understand that seems familiar. The man continues "Put her on the tree's roots, now."

The woman kneels at one of my roots and stares at the child in her hands. Then she turns, a snarl changing her face into a bloodthirsty lioness. " You will pry this child out of my dead, unmoving arms." The woman stands boldly facing the man.

A tear drips down the man's face as he growled "Please honey, you do not know who she is, what she means to." He does not finish his sentence. The woman takes a step back, her eyes widening and her face takes on a ghostly glow. She whispers " that is because you will not tell me!"

The man looks down and then brings out a small vial out of his long trench coat. The child wails, the sound like the tumbling of my brethren. The man does not meet the woman's eyes. "It is you or her. My people have clearly set rules, and frankly, I love you more. This way, the child has a chance. If we bring her back with us, the child will surely die." The woman takes another step back, her bare legs pushing against my bark. "If you force me to do this, I will no longer be your wife."

The man steps forward, and uncorks the vial, his face unmoving. He whispers "So, it shall be." Then he reached forward and let the fumes of the vial seep into the woman's nose. He, then carefully takes the child out of her arms, and sets the child under one of my roots.

How I wished, that I could reveal myself to them, and demolish the wretched man. But I just sat there, stuck to the ground, as the woman shook her head. Her eyes widened, and a wordless scream crawled out of her mouth. The man wrapped his arms around her and started to pull her away. She claws him, her nails sharpened to points, leaving bloody gashes circling like bonds around his wrists. But he just keeps going, not once looking back, at the child he is leaving behind.

But the mother does, as she goes limp, now scratching the cold cement, leaving white chalk marks mixed with neon red that stains forever. I make a split-branch decision, and let my sap ooze over the child. The mother goes silent, as I make the child disappear into me. The mother gasps, and for the first time, since I was planted, I speak. My speech is only heard by her because she birthed the child with sap running through her veins. "I will do what you are forced to not."

That was all I managed before, the man and the mother are camouflaged by the sharp darkness. At that exact moment, the stars and moon are hidden by the clouds that gather overhead. Teardrops began to fall with a steady, washing pit-patter sound. But none of them can wash away the marred marks of what had occurred.